Sunday, November 03, 2013

Post-Modern Canticle To The Lady Of Shalott

no one can see the fissured flower of your soul
linger near the clouds over Camelot.
nor will they, ever-

I'm counting your beads of imperceptible pearl

and I cannot sleep:
how have we lost the dream of being happy

just to sing- 

just to sing the leaves on the trees
the light on opal waters.

who made us find (in order to be real)

the candlelit someone crowd times crowd
who can adore?

adore only God.

leave.

leave everything.
sing like the birds auditionless and free
from your obscure towers
sing God lonely God

back into

His gleaming pomegranate
heart so filled with crimsoned stars we have
wounded wounded wounded

with the anguish of our publicity


mary angela douglas 3 november 2013